


Wildberry Wine

by shionch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 12:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13076901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shionch/pseuds/shionch
Summary: Cole is human now, and Iron Bull is concerned for his well-being. As Cole figures out what he wants, things escalate.





	Wildberry Wine

It was a hot night at Skyhold; Cole couldn’t sleep. A stranger in his own skin, his new-found mortality, he struggled with what he did not understand.

Mountains were suffocating; air, thick and wet as wine-fumed breath, was hanging still, unmoving, immovable. The sky itself, bare and black and blinking blindly through the hole in the roof, couldn’t breathe.

Tossing and turning in his bed, sticky sheets clinging to his body, Cole felt dizzy. His throat was dry, and even though he was naked under the sheet, he was burning on the inside, hungry vermilion thirst ablaze.

When he heard footsteps, he recognized the pace immediately. Significant weight, but every step — quiet, careful; movements of an experienced warrior.

Cole opened his eyes. True enough, the Iron Bull was there, a clay pitcher in his hands.

“Hey there,” the Iron Bull smiled as soon as Cole met his eye. “Trouble sleeping? I heard you thrashing around.”

“Yes.”

Cole sat up. His bed sheet, soaked through with sweat, smelled obscenely, and he considered tossing it away. He decided against it. Lately, he’d been noticing such things; nudity was embarrassing. Not for him, but for others.

He did not want to embarrass the Iron Bull.

“Not taking the heat very well, are you?” his guest smirked. “Here, I brought you something. Drink. Don’t need you to faint from dehydration, huh?”

“I won’t faint,” Cole said.

Still, as the pitcher was brought to his lips, he accepted the offer.

It tasted like berries. Purple and black and ready to burst from ripeness; sour and sweet, stained fingers, seeds bleeding red. It tasted like buried memories, bittersweet. Blissfully cold.

“Thank you, the iron bull,” Cole said after taking a few gulps.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes.”

He did feel better. But the nudging uneasiness, that hungry flame in his abdomen, wouldn’t go away.

“You should have seen the nights at Seheron. Now that’s what I call hot.”

Glistening grey, bulking and massive, dark markings carved into the skin with acrid poison. Striped trousers hanging low, beltless, a fuzzy trail of dark hair running down the belly.

“Hot,” Cole repeated. His lips felt dry, and he sticked out his tongue, swallowing.

The Iron Bull looked at him, and Cole shivered. He didn’t understand the fire ravaging him from the inside, but he knew he wanted... something.

“You should try to sleep,” the Iron Bull suggested, his deep voice surprisingly gentle. “I’ll leave the drink. The pitcher’s enchanted to stay cool. Wouldn’t want you to succumb to a heat stroke.”

Cole sensed hesitation. Fear, like oily black smoke rising from a burned down shell of a house, charred wood, sharp edges crumbling at the lightest touch. Burned down, burned out, extinguished by a misty dawn. But sizzling still.

“Why did you really come, the iron bull?” Cole asked.

He knew the answer already. He could hear it, thoughts dashing fast in another’s mind.

Just a kid. No, a demon. Can demons even have these urges? Wide eyes, hungry, he wants it. I know what he needs. He can’t handle it. Soft, skinny, fragile, easy to break. Demon. Don’t trust him. Always taking care of everyone, but what of his own needs? I know what he needs...

“What do I need, the iron bull?” Cole asked in a whisper.

The iron bull. He liked to be called that. A raging animal, mindless weapon. But also... Soft. Alive. Exposed. Heart open, come and take it. Put your mouth where your eyes linger.

“Reading my mind again?” the Iron Bull shook his head. “Didn’t I ask you to quit that?”

“You did,” Cole remembered at once. “I’m sorry.”

The Iron Bull smirked.

“Well... since you have, it simplifies things. You know what I’m thinking. What do you think about it?”

“About what?”

He leaned in suddenly, big strong body almost directly above Cole, horned silhouette blocking the view, face blurred by the darkness.

“You need a release. I can give it to you. I can make you feel so good you’ll forget what’s real.”

He smelled like wine, sour and spicy. For some reason it reminded Cole of another man he once knew; Rhys didn’t drink, but he was the only one who approached Cole up close like that, the only one who reached out and touched him without fear.

It felt good to be touched by Rhys. Maybe it would feel good with the Iron Bull, too.

“Alright. Yes.” Cole nodded. “I’d like that.”

“That doesn’t sound too enthusiastic,” the Iron Bull took him by the chin, lifting his head to search his eyes. “You don’t have to agree if you don’t want to. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Cole smiled, putting his hands on top of the Iron Bull’s wrists, caressing the forearms with his thumbs. Rhys did that once. Just once. Cole didn’t understand. But he did now. “I want to.”

“ _Katoh,_ ” the Iron Bull murmured in Cole’s ear. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

“Just remember the word, kid.”

Kid. Little goat. Devour. No, not yet. Slowly. Gently.

The Iron Bull’s face was rough with stubble, coarse like a whetting stone. His lips tasted like the drink he’d brought to quench Cole’s thirst, wild berries mixed with the tart bitter burn of alcohol.

The Iron Bull tugged at his sheet, and Cole tossed it aside. Immediately, he felt a hand on his chest — so big and heavy, and hot, and slick with sweat. So big it could rub both his nipples at once. Nipples, yes, that’s what those were called... Cole never paid much attention to his body before, but now? Suddenly he was aware of everything.

His toes curled, knees weak, legs spread, arms bent as his hands clutched desperately at the bed, he felt everything. His body, skin and muscles taut. The heat, unbearable heat at his core, heart beating, trapped bird in a cage of bones... and his cock, a rod of flame, it was aching.

The Iron Bull touched him, and Cole moaned. Breaths came out of his mouth, too fast to be meaningful, to noisey; his throat ached.

Suddenly, the Iron Bull picked up the discarded sheet, and the next moment — the fabric ripped with a loud noise. The Iron Bull torn it, pulled apart, and then — Cole watched him intently, submissive, awaiting guidance — the Iron Bull wrapped the makeshift stripe of linen around Cole’s wrists, efficiently tying his hands above his head.

“You good?”

“Good,” Cole confirmed.

“Good,” the Iron Bull repeated. Then he tied the loose end to the bedrest. “Remember what to say?”

“I remember.”

The Iron Bull caressed him, rough calloused hand from the collarbone down to still aching cock.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the Iron Bull promised. “Not tonight.”

“Do what you will,” Cole said.

The Iron Bull smiled at him sharply, a flash of teeth, lips spread like a threat, or a promise. Then the Iron Bull took Cole in his grip, and the head of his cock plunked into the ball of the Iron Bull’s palm, soft and cushy, and then that big gentle hand rubbed him all over — skin to skin; his cock leaked, wet from arousal, sleek and needy, and pulsing with thick blood; as for the rest of his body — the Iron Bull didn’t forget an inch. He nibbled at Cole’s neck, then at his left nipple, all the while his hand kept working on his cock in a slow but steady pace. Cole moaned again, and again — he’d lost count how many whimpering, sobbing moans he’d been making, he didn’t care. He wanted more.

The other hand, free from the cock, the Iron Bull dragged around, gliding up and down Cole’s chest and stomach, his thighs, then he gripped Cole’s ankle and made him bend his legs, and then...

“ _Katoh!_ ” Cole cried out, gasping, just as a finger pressed against his butthole, but it was too late.

A wave of pleasure overcame him, and, with a helpless whine and a shudder, he came, spilling his load all over — the Iron Bull’s hand, his own stomach, a few drops even reached his chest.

The Iron Bull recoiled at once, but then — for some reason he laughed. Cole, as filled with ecstatic exhaustion as he was, stared at him in confusion.

“That’s not how you use that word,” the Iron Bull explained. Kind, patient. He leaned in and cupped Cole’s cheek. “You tell me to stop, I assume I’ve crossed the line. It’s not a warning for _'I am about to come'_. It’s a warning for _'I dislike being touched in this manner'_ , or _'this hurts'_. It’s for your benefit and safety, Cole. Not mine. Trust me, I can handle a few cum stains.”

Cole paused, thinking it over.

“I liked being touched,” he said finally.

“I’ve noticed,” the Iron Bull smirked. Then he reached to untie Cole’s wrists. “Hey, sorry for the bed sheet, by the way. I’ll come prepared next time.”

“Next time?”

“You still have a lot of tension to relieve. And a lot to learn.”

His hands were free again. Cole rubbed them; there were marks left by the restraints. Red, that’s going to turn purple at the break of dawn. Berry-blood-wine staining his skin.

He was alive. He was real.

“Yes.” Cole smiled. “Next time, then.”


End file.
